SONG. (Fair liberty! whom heaven gave)

Fair liberty! whom heaven gave But where peculiarly it loves; And put off all it mean: for slave With orange bow'rs and citron groves! The children of the frozen north, Where nature half her gifts retains. Are doom'd to tame the churlish earth, For tasteless fruits, and tardy grains;

Yet while their weary task they ply, By thee their fainting souls are cheer'd! No stern unfeeling Lord is nigh: No rods are seen, no chains are heard! Still as they guide the delving plough, Or bind pale Autumn's scanty store; To thee, their manly lives they vow, To thee, their grateful strains they pour!